Neeraja Ramjee Photo by Kat duPont Vecchio

Pop culture is certainly loaded with stories of novelists who suddenly become media celebrities with one hot book, but in his 2005 psychological exploration, Broken Images, the late Indian playwright Girish Karnad added a cultural twist to the mix when his protagonist, Manjula Nayak, an academic with modest success as a short story scribe in her native language, suddenly lands a big contract with a British publisher for what is not only her first novel, but her first published work written in English.

Titled "The River Has No Memories," the worldwide bestseller is praised in London for having "a genuine Indian feel," but criticized by many in her home country for being written in the language of colonizers. As one pundit put it, "No Indian writer can express herself–or himself–honestly in English."

In director Susanna Jaramillo's new mounting, E. 4th Street's Paradise Factory provides a suitably intimate audience experience for what is essentially an internal interrogation that debates the issue of media bombardment that reinforces the public belief in what the more recent vernacular may call "alternative facts."

Scenic designer Theron Wineinger supplies a spartan room in a studio of India's Star Network, their logo displayed on a plasma screen while another screen is divided into camera angles and a loop of programming. There's a high director's chair set up for Nayak (Neeraja Ramjee) to present a live ten-minute introduction to the premiere of a telefilm based on her book. Introduced by an unseen host (voice of Cary Edwards), she gives a polished presentation, accented by canned applause and laughter, calmly addressing not only those who criticize her for writing in English, but those who praise how, in writing the voice of her central character, she can "so vividly recreate the inner life of a person confined to bed all her life."

In answering the question, "How can a healthy, outdoor woman be so empathetic to the emotional world of a disabled person?," she briefly describes her years caring for her younger sister, whose nervous system was completely damaged below the waist.

Ramjee presents Nayak as a warm and charming personality, fully comfortable in delivering her prepared text to the public. But when the segment is over and the camera is shut off, Karnad's avant-garde theatrics begin.

A video image of Nayak, designed by Zack Lobel, appears on one of the screens and the rest of the play is an interrogation of the live novelist by her onscreen image, suggested to be her "Freudian Unconscious."

As her character faces up to the truth about her upbringing, her relationship with sister and the creation of her novel, Ramjee very effectively displays Nayak's facade failing as her public image gradually breaks.

And extremely impressive on a technical level is how realistically the actor pulls off the effect of the character having a conversation with herself, not just timing her live dialogue to be in sync with the audio voice, but playing off the video image's silent judgmental reactions.

While I won't reveal what discoveries are made during their exchange, I'll admit that I was more interested in the initial issue of English being the worldwide language of commercial success for artists, a debate that is quickly set aside. Also, audiences in 2025 may want to challenge the idea of a character from an underrepresented group being voiced by someone who isn't.

Still, the concept is clever, the writing is entertaining, and Neeraja Ramjee's performance, both emotionally and technically, is enough reason to enjoy this interesting piece.